


a psychedelic silhouette

by symmetrophobic



Category: GOT7
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7979515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symmetrophobic/pseuds/symmetrophobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson has little business believing in things he shouldn’t- no one does, living in a town like this. And that’s exactly why he believes in Mark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a psychedelic silhouette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ideare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideare/gifts).
  * Inspired by [take your caution or take your chances](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6876751) by [ideare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideare/pseuds/ideare). 



> a submission for the 2016 kpop ficmix challenge.

He’s wearing red when Jackson sees him first.

Jackson remembers because the colour threaded into the front of his shirt is the same colour as his hair, as vibrant as the rest of him is cold. 

Jackson himself is in his school uniform, standing in the clumping humidity, sweat making the cotton stick to the back of his neck, and the boy he’s never seen before (and that’s saying something, because Jackson knows everyone in this wretched little town) feels like a breath of fresh air, diffusing deeper with every step he takes closer. 

The image of him burns imprints onto Jackson’s eyeballs that stay even when he blinks, like the white spots that appear in your eyes when you stare at the sun for too long. Despite the heat of the waterlogged air they’re both standing in, icy tingles of excitement race up the skin of Jackson’s arms.

He looks a little lost- wide eyes darting up the street and down to the map in his hands nervously, slight frame dwarfed in the sweater he’s wearing despite the heat. Definitely not from around here.

“Hi,” Jackson breathes out, barely noticing that he’s walked right up to this stranger and introduced himself out of the blue. It’s nothing new enough to surprise anyone, considering who Jackson is, but around this boy, there’s a strange sense of urgency to act that’s foreign even to him. “I’m Jackson.”

He fumbles a little at the tentative, uncomfortable expression on the other boy’s face, and immediately stutters, self-conscious: “I’m sorry for coming up to you like this, I just-…I’ve never seen you around before?”

“Ah, no, I just moved in,” and _his voice_ , it’s like honey and molten chocolate, rich and delicate, and Jackson laps the sound of it up like a dog on a boiling summer’s day, frothing at its mouth. Every second after that is another Jackson has to live without hearing it, leaving him more parched than he’d been before.

“Oh, yeah, a friend of mine told me someone was moving in,” Jackson blubbers. “His parents know everyone that goes in and out of the town. I know him through school- I’m attending the high school down the road.”

He’s babbling, now- this happens every time he gets excited or nervous, when his first line of defence comes up to either save him or plunge him into even deeper trouble, but this time miraculously, it seems to be the former.

A perfect, dark brow quirks in a hint of innocent curiosity, and Jackson’s heart almost leaps out of his chest. 

“I know everyone in this town,” he seems to find it fit to blurt out then, and Jackson does- it’s one of the few things he’s actually proud of, and not just saying he is because it’s easier to. One side of his mouth quirks up, breath betraying the hopefulness weighing heavy in his chest. “You want me to-…need some help finding your way around?” 

After some pause, the boy smiles shyly, then, perfect lips parting to let a perfect set of teeth peek out, and that seems to change his whole face at once, from something apprehensive into something that hints the slightest bit of welcoming interest, and Jackson’s breath hitches at the opportunity. 

“My name’s Mark, I was just heading into town to pick some things up. You wouldn’t-…happen to be busy now, would you? I’m kind of figuring my way out around this place.”

“Yeah,” Jackson says like he can’t breathe, limbs feeling cloudlike and rooted to the ground at the same time, and his knees almost give out as he takes a step forward. “Yeah, I’ll-…I’ll show you around! No one knows this place better than I do.” 

“Wow,” Mark blushes as Jackson fumbles into step beside him, walking back the way Jackson came from. His eyes glint like diamonds embedded in coal-dark rock, voice smooth and hesitant, and Jackson can’t look away. “It’s a good thing you found me, then, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” It’s all Jackson can do to repeat himself dumbly, smiling the widest he’s ever smiled, heart swelling in his chest at the thought. 

He wonders later who’d been the one to have been found that day- the idea that it’d been Mark who’d found him instead gives him butterflies in his stomach, the excitatory thrum of their wings against his ribcage a promise of more to come.

*

Mark is like a quiet enigma, deafening in the way he cuts cleanly through Jackson's mind, his heart, and everything else about him.

Jackson subsists on the idea of never being alone, of being surrounded by so many friends he'll never run out, but when it comes to Mark, he swears, it's like everything else just disappears. It's just him, just Mark, and he doesn't want, doesn't need anything else. It’s a thrilling feeling, one that breaks the stifling monotony that seems to have waterlogged this town.

“I’m going out!” Jackson hollers to an empty house, barely stopping to give his all-black ensemble a quick once-over before stumbling down the stairs. 

Today’s a special day.

Today’s the day Mark promised to bring him to his house, after much begging and pleading on Jackson’s part. Mark prefers to keep a low profile, and Jackson feels a swell of pride that he, he, would be the one let in on the other boy’s secret.

Mark’s hand is startlingly cool in his, even after walking down all those steps cleverly hidden by the grass, and as they hit the ground where his house is, there’s a scorching rush of sweet wind that curls around Jackson’s whole body. The light’s different, here, and so is the air- probably as a result of being all the way down here. 

“It feels great,” Jackson grins, wide, and when Mark smiles back, looking a little surprised, a little gratified, it roots itself all the way down in his core. “It feels like I never want to leave.”

Mark laughs again- the honey in his voice here is sweeter, warmer, enveloping Jackson like tree sap around an insect. His dark eyes are sparkling in the sunlight, and _damn_ , he’s so _beautiful_. 

“It’s nice having people around,” he shrugs, then, a regretful sort of wistfulness creeping into his voice. “It gets lonely here sometimes.”

Jackson’s heart aches at the thought of Mark here, all alone- he thinks about the mouldy apartment he calls home, the desolate echoes of his voice around old wooden walls, and of course, Mark would feel the same.

“I’ll never leave,” Jackson blurts out, and Mark laughs, the sound of it swallowed by the rush of wind that swirls hungrily around the two of them, as if in reply.

“Even better,” The redhead pushes the door to the hulking house open, nodding inside- despite its age, the hinges are dead silent, oiled to perfection, and Jackson bounds in after him. “You could bring all your friends here,” Mark smiles shyly. “And we could all stay together here forever.”

Then he laughs again, like he’s just told the best joke in the world, and the door clicks shut silently behind them, while the wind roars on outside.

*

“He’s amazing,” Jackson insists, almost skipping down the pavement in his excitement. Beside him, Youngjae struggles to keep up, panting a little in his stuffy white shirt. “You’ll get it once you see him. He lives alone, you know- he never knew his father.”

Youngjae looks back once, squinting in the sunlight. Jackson doesn’t exactly know why- the rest of the town seems gloomy compared to when he’s at Mark’s house.

“Isn’t he the guy that just moved into Hummingbird Mansion some time back?” the younger boy’s voice is hesitant but loud in the way only he can make it. “I haven’t heard anything about him, to be honest. Is he even in school? And he’s living in that big place all by himself?”

“Yeah, it’s an inheritance,” Jackson says, making a turn- he’s proud of how well he can remember the route to Mark’s place, now, despite never having been all that great with directions. 

“From who?” Youngjae sounds thoughtful. Jackson doesn’t reply- he doesn’t know. 

But it’s okay, Mark’s probably still struggling with that part, and didn’t want to tell him the last time they met. 

“It’s right down here,” Jackson points out the steps, and the other boy stumbles. “We’re almost there,” he grins smugly. “You ready for this?”

“I don’t understand why you keep playing him up like this,” Youngjae lets out a short laugh, all that he has breath for, as they go down the stairs. “What’s so good about him anyway?”

“You’ll get it once you see him,” Jackson realizes he doesn’t have the words to explain it- doesn’t have the words to explain someone like Mark. 

Because there’s no way to verbalise how it feels to see Mark, be near him, touch him. No way to describe the thirst that itches at the back of one’s throat when he goes away.

Youngjae doesn’t respond- they’ve reached the bottom of the hill, and Jackson’s already searching, so much he barely notices the soft noise that escapes the younger boy.

It’s something about being down here, something about the searing smell of honey and the muffled groan of the century-old brickwork under the pressure of the wind, that gets Jackson every time.

But then a face appears in the window upstairs- the promise of a gratified smile beckoning, and Jackson hurries on, turning back to tell Youngjae to catch up.

“Wow,” The younger boy repeats- he’s a little breathless, from the climb down, probably, but there’s something comical about the way he’s looking around, wind whipping into his ridiculous shirt and hair, the way his eyes are so wide open Jackson can see the pale whites all around. 

“Yeah?” Jackson wonders, exhaling. The air burns so hot it feels cold, sending goosebumps prickling up the skin of his arm pleasantly. “So are we going to see him now or…?”

“Yeah,” Youngjae trudges through the last of the field- the grass is thicker here, so it looks like the ground is swallowing his feet up with every step he takes. He’s looking up towards the top now, eyes alight with an innocent, hungry kind of curiosity. “Let’s go see Mark.”

*

“He was great,” Mark reassures Jackson, and it’s convincing enough that Jackson drops any semblance of doubt he’d had before the meeting.

The meeting had gone decently, in Jackson’s opinion. As usual, Youngjae had been a little embarrassing, but Mark had seemed surprisingly oblivious to it- probably happy with the company, Jackson thinks.

They’re walking around town, now- Jackson’s missing lessons for this, but the prospect of school pales in comparison to being able to spend the morning with Mark. “You’re sure?”

“It’s nice,” Mark says it like he’s embarrassed at the idea. “Meeting new people. Sometimes,” he looks away, like there’s something on his mind. “When they’re kind.”

Jackson doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he shuts up for once, keeps walking, until Mark speaks again, unprompted. 

“Like you,” he says, glancing over, then away again quickly. 

Something hot seems to rush outwards, then, from Jackson’s chest, spreading to the tips of his fingers and toes and the top of his head, and for a split second, he smells honey. 

“You,” Jackson clears his throat. “You think so?”

Mark’s averting his eyes, pale cheeks dusted pink. “I’d love to meet more people.”

Jackson’s heart is an open one, the golden gates guarding it thrown ajar to all that might pass and happen to look in, but all it feels now is shut, closed tight around the beauty that is Mark, determined to protect him to the bitter end. 

Mark turns suddenly, though, head snapping towards a house, and the figure of a woman disappears behind a day curtain, so her silhouette remains, skulking in a shadow.

“Do you have friends here?” he asks conversationally, and Jackson breaks into a smile.

“Yeah, one of my best friends Jinyoung stays here!” he says excitedly, maybe a little too loud, because Mark laughs.

“I’ll bring him to meet you one day,” he adds quickly, hoping to salvage the situation- Jinyoung is kind. Mark will like Jinyoung, for sure.

“That’d be nice,” Mark says wistfully, almost, staring at the house. He turns back to face Jackson, dark eyes glittering with an entrancing amusement. “You’ll do it, won’t you?”

They walk on, past the house, and Jackson hears a rustle- when he glances back, the back door of Jinyoung’s house has been screened in.

“Do what?” he asks, momentarily distracted.

“Let me meet all your friends?” Mark asks tentatively. “The kind ones?”

Jackson’s gaze is dragged back to the other boy, as per usual, and he lets out a deep breath, letting the incessant worries piling up at the back of his head roll off his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Jackson promises, as they walk on- beyond them, the horizon stretches, soaked in the burning hues of noontime, and for a moment it feels like they’re walking on top of the world. “I’ll let you meet them all.”


End file.
